


Farewell, Farewell, to You Who Hear, You Lonely Travelers All

by i_am_made_of_memoriies



Series: Mechtober 2020 [2]
Category: The Mechanisms (Band)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Hurt No Comfort, I make shit up about cyberia yet again, Mechtober, Nastya really did love the mechs, musings on family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:21:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26810560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_am_made_of_memoriies/pseuds/i_am_made_of_memoriies
Summary: written for Mechtober 2020 (octokittens/family in this case all family no octokittens)Nastya knows family well(title from Farewell, Farewell by The Fairport Convention)
Relationships: The Aurora/Nastya Rasputina
Series: Mechtober 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1949050
Comments: 5
Kudos: 14





	Farewell, Farewell, to You Who Hear, You Lonely Travelers All

**Author's Note:**

> ahaha I'm sad about Nastya

What defined family? Nastya knew better than anyone that blood defined nothing. After all these years, she barely remembered her blood-relatives. She took a moment to try and remember her mother’s face–her sharp features, and cold blue eyes. She could remember a semblance of a visage, but nothing distinct. The face she imagined did not quite have the right nose, and Nastya could no longer the exact fullness of her mother’s lips. She knew that the sound of her mother’s voice had slipped through the cracks in her memory, but if she was forced to assign a characteristic to it, she would describe her mother’s Cyberian as harsh. She could remember her brothers slightly better. If she took a moment to reflect, she could remember snippets of their voices; they were always so serious. But Nastya remembered her father the best. She was never close to him, and he never seemed to pay much mind to her, but he was the last family member she spoke to before she died. 

No, none of Nastya’s blood relatives were true family. She had a scarce amount of pleasant memories with them, all of which stemmed from her early childhood. Truthfully, Nastya was not sure if those instances even happened; as a young girl, she had a penchant for making up elaborate stories. Cynically, she believed the few pleasant memories of her childhood in Cyberia to be nothing but fantasies.

Regardless, Nastya did know family. She knew support from those she considered siblings. She knew the comfort of leaning on someone’s shoulder, speaking no words, yet understanding each other. She had spent countless hours doing just that with Ashes. They would rest a hand on Nastya’s shoulder and simply wait with her. Without any words or platitudes of comfort, they helped Nastya through most of her turmoil. 

She knew the chaos and energy of a sibling. She knew the thrill and adrenaline of sprinting down bright hallways, Jonny at her heels. Jonny was her older brother, twin, and annoying little brother all at the same time, but whatever role he filled, they got along like a house on fire. She knew the connection siblings shared–the unspoken understanding, and the indelible moments of sweetness in between arguments or physical fights. 

Nastya knew what it meant to have a family. She spent uncountable hours in the kitchen, speaking with her crewmates about anything under the sun. She comforted them and they reciprocated. Nastya knew love.

Her family extended beyond platonic love. Nastya knew romantic love so well; she loved for millennia and millennia, through the creation and fall of countless civilizations, and through wartime and peace. She loved Aurora so deeply, she often found it difficult to express; how was she supposed to qualify something that meant everything to her?

Nastya was no stranger to family, but she was also no stranger to the laws of the universe. Everything had to find its end. Nastya’s story with her family had ended; the one she loved more than life itself was no longer the same, and Nastya took that as a sign. 

So as she drifted in and out of consciousness, the cold of the void seeping deep into her bones and exacerbating the chill of her blood, she remembered her erstwhile family fondly. Nastya knew family, she knew love, and she knew the arc of a story. And her story was over. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> still sad about Nastya


End file.
